Illusion

by Dy Loveday

  * * * *

  Maya stood in her room and stared at the darkness outside the fortress window. The crying jag had cleansed her. Made her feel whole again. Nothing could change the past, but maybe this world offered a chance for a new start. If so, she’d grab the opportunity with both hands. It was time to break the addiction and accept the djinni as part of her. If the nightmares increased, then she’d have to learn to live with them. She’d face what she’d done in the past and try and make restitution for the future. If that meant living in the Abyss forever, then so be it.

  Fire lit up the sky, far out at sea. Booms of thunder intermingled with flashes of lightning. She rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the goose bumps. Ships lit up like specters as they fired odd cannons. Blue flashes of electrical current forked across the sky, followed by silence as the ships were swallowed by darkness. She backed away, stumbling, dread rippling down her back like water pouring over a stone. She’d never wanted to live through a war and now it had followed her to Balkaith.

  Voices and shouts came from the corridor. She was tempted to leave the room. But the passages roved over the fortress like wormholes. Without a guide, she’d be lost in five minutes. She dressed in jeans and a too-small T-shirt that clung to her chest like glue. The familiarity of her old clothes connected her somehow, warmed her up, even if nothing fit up top. Maybe Resh could create a spell to zap her breasts back to normal?

  She was sick of relying on others for help. It was time to examine the knife. It had certainly caused a reaction in Clarice. Even Besmelo had taken an interest in it, so it must hold some significance. If the dagger had chosen her, then maybe she could activate its latent powers? She needed to look after herself.

  She pulled the triple-edged knife from its sheath and placed it on the table. It glinted silver fire under the light of the candle. Her legs shook. She trod across the floor and stared at it, imagined the details of the knife flying in her mind as if she was drawing it.

  “Well, come on. Come to me.” The jeweled handle glinted in the candlelight, not moving.

  This was ridiculous; it wasn’t as if she was calling a hound, for God’s sake.

  She stretched out a hand and took a deep, calming breath, visualizing the knife resting in her palm. The djinni was with her; the bracelet hadn’t moved since it had knocked the table at dinner. Would it help her now?

  Nothing.

  With her eyes squeezed shut, she concentrated hard and imagined the knife diving across the room. She opened one eye and looked at the loafing culprit. It rested placidly on the table in a vertical position, as if giving her the middle finger.

  Damn. She crossed her arms and tapped one foot.

  “Come here, or I’ll turn you into metal filings.”

  The knife stayed still, taunting her. She walked back and picked it up. It was slightly warm in her palm. She ran her finger over the dragon beast on the hilt, below the wire grip. Despite its tragic history, it was a lovely piece.

  The pad of her finger caught a sharp edge, and blood welled. The red stain disappeared into the knife like water soaking into litmus paper. She recoiled, remembering the ease with which it had cut through her palm when she’d evoked Molokh. Had it absorbed her blood? She fumbled, dropping the knife. It tumbled and hit the table point down. The sharp tip embedded in the wood and vibrated slightly, back and forth, back and forth.

  Willing herself to calm, she glared at the now still knife. “You know who I am? Molokh’s daughter.” She visualized a scene—her throwing the damn dagger at her father, impaling his chest to the wall.

  The knife twinkled in the light. Was it her imagination, or had it moved?

  “Alakazam.” Her voice came out louder than she had intended and startled her.

  “Open sesame.”

  Nothing—not even a quiver of movement.

  “Izzy wizzy, let’s get busy.” She glanced around the room, worried someone would overhear her crazy conversation with an inanimate object. What did she expect—some magical transformation? Her shoulders drooped. What she’d like to do to her so-called father right now.

  “Squash him hard, like a roach.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of rose light. She whirled in time to see the dagger lift from the table. It hovered chest high. The three prongs slid seamlessly inside the knife, leaving one flat blade. Her eyes widened, and she traveled back over the last few minutes. What had she done to activate it?

  The dagger twirled and flew into her hand, landing with a soft bounce. The breath caught in her throat and she stared at the new line of blood welling across her palm even as her heart raced in delight.

  Her mouth closed with a soft click of teeth. Well, well. So it just needed to know who was boss. Treat ’em mean, indeed. She placed the dagger on the table and strolled to the other side of the room. In her mind, she impaled the tall, blond Molokh. The knife rocked and clattered against the wood. She grinned. So that was the key. She had to imagine placing Molokh’s evil under the point of the dagger. She did a little jig, smiling in delight.

  “Again. This time I want two flips in the air. And hilt in my hand, not the bloody flat of the blade.”

  She’d end up looking like she’d been through a cheese slicer—but the small accomplishment felt like she was getting somewhere.

  * * * *

  The bell-like tone sounded again, elevating to a harsh shrill, fading to silence. Maya winced and walked to the window. It was an alarm of some sort.

  A red dawn struggled to break through a thick mist on the leeward side of the fortress. Red cinders and black ash fell from the sky and obscured the view of the ocean. Massive black shapes flew through the darkness and cast huge boulders at the castle. The stones hit some type of magical field that glowed red and spat them into thousands of pieces into the ocean.

  She blinked hard, tried to see through the mess. Things were getting ugly.

  The bedroom door opened and closed with a soft compression of air. “Time to go; we leave now. I hope you managed to get some sleep?” Resh asked, walking toward her with a sleek stride.

  Bleary-eyed, she nodded. Did a few hours count? And what was the time difference here? She’d have to find out.

  “Where?”

  “The Khereb are breaching the city’s defense.” He motioned to the falling ash. “So far they focus their efforts on night raids, trying to find weaknesses. That is changing. The longer the war stretches, the harder it will be to leave. We need to meet Clarice and the others in Tau. The Head Witch is the Priestess of the goddess Hecate. For a price, she may agree to join in a high ritual.”

  “Do you still have your satchel?”

  God. Had Alexandr ripped out the pages of the ancient grimoire? She cringed. And was Resh’s voice rougher, deeper somehow?

  “Yes, I’ve barely unpacked since arriving. I almost forgot. Aseroth gave me this.” She dragged the bag out from under the bed and rummaged inside. She pulled out the crystal and offered it to him.

  Resh nodded, a speculative expression on his face. “Keep it in your bag. Has anyone seen it?”

  “Only Alexandr. What is it?”

  “You can infuse it with a spell and cast it when needed. Aseroth’s mother was an earth muse,” he said, as if that explained everything. His eyebrow arched while a glint of silver danced in his pupils. “Or you can use it to capture and hold a soul.”

  She grimaced. Of course it wouldn’t be a decorative rock you placed on a ledge to catch the light. Was nothing straightforward in this world?

  “What did Esmonda want?”

  “She hopes to reconcile our past.” He paused for a moment. “She’ll recant her request for restitution.”

  That was a relief.

  “I wonder if you can do something about getting my necklace back from Lucient? And ummm. These? Like…” She pointed at her chest with her thumb. “Turn them back to normal?” She felt her cheeks redden with heat.

  He raised a brow. “I’ll get the necklace, but I don’t know a
ny spells to change appearances. They look perfect the way they are.” His voice was definitely deeper. It must have something to do with the raw skin circling his throat.

  She cringed. “Well, I was happy with what I had.”

  “Perhaps we can find something on our travels.” He walked closer and pushed her curls behind one ear. “You’ve barely had time to rest, and you look exhausted. I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

  She suppressed a shiver. “Life’s a bitch. I’m sorry if you’ve joined with one.”

  Chapter 15

  Shattered

  The street forked into three paths that climbed up the hillside. The shops were set into the rock, their curved glass fronts reflecting the hazy sky. Most were barred and closed. Women in formfitting dresses and men wearing loose trousers packed household goods into carts, their faces white and strained. The heavy, rhythmic thud of marching soldiers, wearing swords and carrying black guns, rattled a shop windowpane.

  Resh returned Maya’s necklace, which she placed around her neck.

  “The Tribune has given us permission to travel to Tau and attempt a high ritual,” he’d said.

  Maya guessed the elders didn’t want her to return. She wasn’t exactly a fugitive as much as an outcast, and nerves had her biting the inside of her cheek until it was a bloody mess. Besmelo had told her they’d have to evoke the Enim warriors without divine assistance. For a high ritual, they needed a Circle of Eight magical races. Even if the witches agreed to help, they were still short.

  She spotted birds in a cage and they reminded her of Gaai and Pia.

  “The ravens fly ahead to warn the witches of our arrival,” Resh said, when she asked where they were.

  She guessed no one wanted to surprise the coven, but meeting the witches was the least of her problems. Resh had promised he wouldn’t let her leave without a fight, but even if he lived hundreds of years, he wasn’t omnipotent.

  This morning she’d ditched her spellbox, hoping to break the habit once and for all. If she was going down, she’d do it on her own terms.

  Maya followed Alexandr through the streets of Balkaith with Esmonda and Resh close behind. She felt Esmonda’s gaze weighing on her back. She couldn’t fathom why Resh would bring his sister along, but for once in her life she kept her mouth shut, because if she opened it, she was sure to say something she’d regret. She had more to think about than Esmonda, like managing the chills and sweats greasing her skin. Maybe she should have tried a gradual easing off the tabs instead of going cold turkey, but she knew she’d never be able to avoid the temptation. Hopefully the others would think it was a fair-skinned person’s reaction to the heat.

  “Are you hot, Maya?” Esmonda asked.

  Maya shrugged and turned away. “I’m not used to the heat.” The sorceress must know something was up. The idea of Esmonda discovering her problem with spells tormented her, and she built a wall in her mind, expending energy she couldn’t afford on shielding her thoughts.

  They entered one of the few open shops in a small cul-de-sac, purchasing earth spirits in small-stoppered vials to trade with the witches.

  “The coven use them to speak with their dead,” Resh explained as they stepped back onto the cobblestone road. He stored the twinkling brews of green smoke in a flat leather bag.

  Maya shuddered.

  “When will we use a portal?” A sudden cramp seized her stomach and she steadied herself by leaning against a rough wall as nonchalantly as possible. Weariness was building up like a load of bricks stacked on her head.

  Alexandr shook his head, gold hair trailing over his shoulder before twitching back. “We won’t.” She glanced up, curious despite herself. “Dematerializing leaves a signature. If the city falls, the Khereb will expect people to leave for Nephthys. The animosity between witches and warlocks is well known. We’ll walk the quickest path to Tau under the mountain instead. Once beneath, high magic is impossible due to the deposits in the rock.” He looked to Resh and struck his staff on the ground. A wave of warm light streamed from the silver tip. “I’m running low on elements. I’ll need to collect more before we leave.”

  Resh frowned and looked up at the glassy shield covering the city. “Make it quick. We’ll meet you at the Northern Gate shortly.” Resh’s dark clothes highlighted the scarred imperfection of his light coffee skin. Faded bruises covered his face, while his neck and wrists looked swollen.

  She wiped her runny nose with a piece of cloth from her pocket and willed herself to breathe deep and keep her self-observations to a minimum so Esmonda couldn’t pick up her thoughts.

  Alexandr nodded and walked quickly toward the glistening bay at the bottom of the street. Resh nudged Maya, pulling her attention back to a long, thin building with a curved door. A woman stood at the window, closing the wooden blinds. “The artisan’s shop is about to close. Gather supplies, but keep it light. I’d like you to practice under supervision.”

  Maya stepped into the shop, Resh and Esmonda on her heels. Reams of textured paper sat on wooden shelves. Maya breathed in the smell of oils and scanned shelves piled with boxes of colored pastels.

  A beaded curtain tinkled and the stout woman wearing an apron reappeared. She spoke to them in a strange tongue.

  Resh responded and handed her some coin. “She wants to close up,” he said. “Choose what you need.”

  Esmonda leaned one hip against a glass counter, arms crossed.

  Maya could feel the sorceress’s eyes staring at the top of her head. She ground her molars together and walked toward colored boxes on a shelf.

  Maya selected a pastel. The smell of ozone filled her nose.

  Several things happened at once. There was a loud crack followed by a crash, and she turned. Esmonda was standing over a large white crystal lying in fragments on the stone floor. Resh’s voice was an apologetic murmur as he spoke to the shopkeeper. He lifted his hand and gestured. A flash of light sparked from his fingers and the shards rattled, dragging together.

  “Hello again, Maya McAdam,” a voice whispered.

  “Huh?” Maya jolted and looked down. She’d been rubbing crayon into small concentric circles on the wooden shelf with her thumb.

  “Remember me?” the voice whispered again, louder this time.

  “What?” Maya glanced to the others. The artisan stared back, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. She marked a sign of protection in the air and dematerialized. The silver beads rattled slightly and opened as if someone passed through.

  Resh lifted his hand to the hilt of his sword and started toward Maya, but it seemed like he strode against a thick tide of mud.

  “It’s Vivienne.” There was a soft chuckle, and Maya stared at the cobalt blue lines on the shelf. Damp wind brushed her face and a strange discombobulating flash of realities hit fast, as if she fell from a great height.

  “I found a child’s drawing years ago,” Vivienne said, distracting her. “One of yours. A small portal, allowing us to take from these premises. You must return to Earth. Horus and Anu are at war. We need you.”

  Panic turned her brain to mush and she tried hard to think. Besmelo would kill her for breaking further sanctions. She’d had no idea any of her pictures remained—had thought them all lost when her apartment was destroyed.

  Resh made a gesture in midair with one hand and the air rippled. He pointed with his other hand to the shelf, the muscles in his neck taut.

  She glanced down at her hand, which seemed to have a mind of its own. Her thumb was rubbing lines and forming a sketch of the alchemagical shop. She forced her hand open and the pastel dropped to the shelf and rolled back and forth.

  The picture quivered, the lines running together and forming a crater. The wood contorted, opening around a cavity. The smell of ozone overlaid with smoke leaked out.

  A long-fingered hand pushed through the shaft and grasped Maya’s wrist. “You’ve got blood on your hands,” Vivienne said in satisfaction. “The purist warlocks have turned their backs on you.”
>
  The wind picked up, whipping Maya’s hair around her face. Resh intoned words in Latin.

  “Help us get rid of the Khereb,” Maya said quickly. “We need a Circle of Eight to force Molokh back behind Mithra.”

  Resh materialized next to her, his hand gripping her arm tight, but Maya resisted, waiting for a response.

  “Why would we help Balkaithites?” Vivienne said. “Molokh will only blame us. But I’ll pass the message to Magister Oxyhiayal.”

  Maya peeled the mage’s fingers off her wrist, flooded by dark emotions—anger and resentment—with those who wouldn’t help. She was sick of living in fear. The warlocks and magi were the same. Even if they hated one another, they embraced a similar self-serving ideology about order and petty politics.

  The walls of the shop warped, fracturing into double images of different realities and it seemed that a blind had lifted from her eyes. Resh was an indistinct outline by her side.

  The air thickened in her lungs and the world wavered in and out of focus, a sharp pain above her ear competing with images flashing across her vision. Her senses expanded and the hole grew larger with each pulse in her arteries. She could even smell the metallic scent of her own blood. Her brain tickled, itching as if a wire was short-circuiting.

  Power called to her and she leaned forward, consciously seeking more. What had she done in this life to deserve Besmelo’s brand of retribution? Nothing. She’d clung to some warped sense of justice when in reality, no one would ever forgive her for what she’d done millennia ago. If she was dark, well, maybe it was something she should embrace?

  The scent of rain preceding a winter storm struck her with such familiarity. Home. Each particle of the wood became distinct, the weave turning into sections of dilapidated buildings and cracked pavement. “Earth,” she said, but it sounded tinny and thin, captured by the tunnel.